The Empress of Sihnon slipped through the emptiness of space like a hot knife through butter.

Of course, as River pointed out on more than one occasion, space isn’t really all that empty, what with micro-meteorites, dust and other detritus, and a hot knife melts butter, it doesn’t cut it. In fact, due to the relative densities of blade and comestible, there was a case to be made for … At this point the Reader usually shut up, as the look on the Captain’s face promised a close, personal encounter with the airlock if she persisted.

So, perhaps it would be more accurate to say that the Empress of Sihnon slipped through the not-quite-empty of space like a luxury liner with an advanced uranium accelerator core, her stateliness belying her speed.

Deck after deck of staterooms, restaurants, the highest quality boutiques, 3D Cortex halls, high grav gymnasiums and low grav swimming pools … the ship was the best Blue Sun had to offer, and the price of a first class ticket would have bankrupted some of the smaller border moons.

A voice made itself known. “Looks like a whorehouse I went to on Chandrey. ‘Cept I think the whorehouse was prettier.”

“I don’t care. Put the uniform on.”

“Aw, Mal …”

-

Some time earlier …

They’d been gone three days from Phoros, heading for Lazarus so that Inara, Sam and the girls could see the new arrival, and for the entire three days – or so it seemed – that same new arrival hadn’t stopped yelling his head off.

“Simon, do something,” Mal ordered, standing in the middle of the galley.

“Like what?” The young doctor looked harassed, and very … no, make that extraordinarily tired. He had a mug of coffee in his hand, but seemed to be ignoring it.

“He’s your son.”

“And I’ve checked him over a dozen times. There’s nothing physically wrong with him.”

“A’course there ain't,” Kaylee said, nursing David and jiggling him as she swung from side to side.

Mal looked away, feeling faintly sea-sick. “Then how come he ain’t sto